All I Ever Wanted
by tortallanrider
Summary: A collection of short fics. All unrelated to each other, a variety of pairings and themes.
1. Unwanted

**Unwanted**

King of Thieves. What a title. He rather preferred being called the Rogue. It sounded much more like what he was. They were synonyms, but 'the Rogue' had a more thievish air to it than 'King of Thieves.' But, he would still be 'your Majesty', just like the king who sat on the throne in the palace. In fact, George Cooper was like King Roald of Conté in many ways. The biggest way they differed, actually, was that George's workings were illegal, while King Roald's workings were entirely the opposite.

Lately, though, George was beginning to think on giving up his title. He was twenty-two years old—he'd been king of thieves for some five years. But things had changed recently, recently being in the last four years or so. George Cooper, King of Thieves, had fallen in love. He was deeply in love with a woman who wanted nothing to do with romance, a woman who saw him with the eyes of a friend.

George had first met Alanna of Trebond on her first day in Corus, the bustling capital of Tortall. She had been wide-eyed and on a fat little pony, accompanied by her big, burly companion, Coram Smythesson. Coram looked at smiling, hazel-eyed George with a disapproving eye. Alanna, on the other hand, seemed to like him at the time. He had seen her again months later when she stumbled upon him on a jaunt to the Lower City with the son of the training master. At the time, she had introduced herself as Alan, because that's who she was pretending to be. However, when she needed his help, she revealed who she really was, much to George's surprise.

In the three years since that incident, much had happened. George had found himself thinking on marriage, and had even revealed this fact to Alanna, who had wheeled back in terror. Alanna didn't want love, you see. She wanted to be a lady knight, she wanted to roam, she wanted to be a hero, but she did not want to love or be loved. She did not want a big wedding; she did not want a family. All Alanna wanted was her horse and some bandits to fight. That was his lass.

Despite all of this, he loved her. He loved her spunk. He loved her red hair. He loved the way she swore like a solider. He loved the fire in her violet eyed. He loved her violet eyes. He loved the way she only drank lemonade. He loved the way she trusted him. He loved the look on her face when he had kissed her. He loved to watch her squirm when he talked of love. He did not love, however, the way she looked at her knight-master, the handsome Prince Jonathan of Conté, heir to the throne.

It was clear to George that Alanna loved the Prince. She would never admit it to anyone, but she loved him. It was in her eyes when she looked at the young man, four years George's junior. There was no denying that with his midnight black hair and sapphire eyes, the Prince was a sight for sore eyes. George admired the Prince—he was a brilliant young man who truly cared about the people of the Lower City. Jonathan would make a great king someday. But Jonathan held the very thing George wanted the most—and the Prince did not even know he held it. Jonathan held the key to Alanna's heart.


	2. Letters Never Sent

**Letters Never Sent**

Dear Jonathan,

I can't stop thinking about you. I didn't mean so much of what I said, and now you've gone. I wish you would come back. I love you, Jonathan. To marry you would be an honor I don't deserve. The thought of never being able to say 'I love you' again is almost more than I can bear. You make my head spin, Jonathan of Conté. I wish I could take it all back.

Yours forever,

Alanna

-&-

Dearest Alanna,

I called you unfeminine, didn't I? I didn't mean it. Well, I did, but I love you just the way you are. Every inch of your body is beautiful to me, and always will be. The light that radiates from your eyes burns me in my sleep, and the look of utter hatred on your face when I left you is forever ingrained into my thoughts. I can't bear to know that I can never hold you again. You are my everything, Alanna. I want no other woman but you. All the women in Court can find someone else, because my heart belongs to you—forever.

Always,

Jonathan

-&-

Dear Jonathan,

What I wrote in that letter? It was a lie. I hate you. Unfeminine? Since when did that matter to you? If you wanted feminine, you could've kept sleeping with that slut Delia of Eldorne. If you wanted feminine, you never should've come to the desert. I hate you, every inch of you makes me sick. The very idea of being around you makes me want to sleep with spiders. You speak against George, who is just as much your friend as he is mine. Even more, I think, because you share the burden of your royalty. It becomes George Cooper better than it becomes you, Jonathan. I hope you're happy.

Alanna

-&-

Alanna,

If all those Court ladies spoiled me, then I never would've slept with you. If I wanted one of them, I would've stayed with Delia. You're a coward, Alanna. You call yourself a knight and yet you are a coward. You are afraid to feel anything deeper than friendship, but will charge headfirst into battle. You call that courage? Courage is telling someone you care for them. Courage is asking a woman who hates the idea of marriage to marry you. You should learn it sometime. Maybe George can teach you about that and some manners too, because, clearly, you never learned them.

Jonathan

-&-

Jonathan,

Damn it. Why do you do these things to my head? You make my head explode; you make me think more than I've had to in years. Gods, Jonathan, you make me wish I weren't such a coward. You make me wish I were more feminine. If only I could ride to Corus now, into your arms, and know you would have me as your wife. But you won't, because you have your pride. And I have mine, but it is nowhere near as big as yours. And your_ ego_, Jonathan! You must learn to swallow it. Its not very becoming in a future king.

Alanna

-&-

Alanna,

I hate you. I love you. You confuse me. You make me think. You make me feel like a human being for once. Everyone treats me like a Prince, and no one treats me as if I have a brain in my head. You see beyond all of the pretense and into the very core. You've seen my at my strongest, you've seen me at my weakest. I owe you my life, Alanna of Trebond and Olau. You are my Lioness, and never forget it.

Jon

-&-

Jon-

I hate you.

-Alanna

P.S. I miss you.


	3. Nevermind

**Nevermind**

_You were once something from a dream_

_I never thought this was what love could be_

_Somehow you just don't seem to see_

_That all this empty space is killing me_

Alanna didn't even watch him ride off. She cried herself back into a fitful sleep, one riddled with dreams of what was and what never could be, all because of some idiotic argument that could've been entirely avoided. But, no. None of that mattered. Because he was gone, without a thought for her, he was gone.

_But Nevermind that I still love you madly_

_Nevermind that you just broke my heart_

_So unkind were you to ever love me_

_But Nevermind, I'll be just fine_

But who cared about him anyways? He wasn't worth it if he would just leave her as he had. He clearly hadn't meant it when he said he loved her. He just wanted to sleep with her, the bastard. He had no heart—he was just as bad as any other man. The terrible thing was, Alanna didn't know any men like that—who went around and broke hearts for fun.

_Break hearts for fun._ Had he broken her heart? Did she ever love him? She may've said it, but had she meant it? Truly? Yes. She really had. And now the heart that she thought would never break was shattered into a million pieces, and it was all his fault. He had ruined everything—everything she had worked for was nothing now, because she'd gone and done it. She'd gone and fallen in love.

_Lying here feeling I could die_

_Wanting nothing else but to know why_

_All I see is memories of us_

_Silly me to think that you could never get enough_

How could she be so _stupid_? Falling in love! Hadn't she sworn, more than once, that she wouldn't? That she didn't want marriage, didn't want love, didn't care for any of it? Had she _lied_ to poor George, who only wanted to love _her_? Had she lied? Lying was something else Alanna made a point of avoiding. But, considering the fact that her lover of nearly two years had seemingly lied to her, maybe it wasn't as big a deal as she'd thought. That was a step in the right direction—she was questioning him.

But…gods, she missed him. Even now, lying in her bedroll, she could feel the heat of his body pressing against hers, the feeling of his soft lips against her bare skin…would those sensations ever go away? Or would they forever burn?

_So Nevermind that I still love you madly_

_Nevermind that you just broke my heart_

_So unkind were you to ever love me_

_But Nevermind, oh I'll be just_

Oh, the memories. The first time they had been together…he had found her walking in the gardens, dressed as a woman, wearing her black wig. He'd tried to undo her bodice, and she'd pushed him away. She'd been terrified, and he had told her that—gods, this hurt—they could be 'frightened together.' Was it all a trick? For years, his words had been ingrained into her mind—'stop fighting what is meant to be', 'you know it as well as I do'…had they all been just those, words? Or had they actually meant something deeper?

_Fine without you holding me close all night_

_You promised I'd be alright_

Already she felt colder. The warmth of her peculiar cat would not be enough on the cold desert nights. She could not snuggle against him for warmth anymore, it just wasn't an option. She felt colder just thinking about it. It was if an icy wind had blown through her tent on the still desert night. She curled up in an attempt to hold in her own body heat, but it was no use. She needed him.

_Nevermind that I still love you madly_

_Nevermind that you just broke my heart_

_So unkind were you to ever love me_

_Nevermind, I'll be just fine_

_I'll be fine_

_Nevermind_

_You said you'd always be mine, but nevermind_

Pride kept her from mounting Moonlight right then and chasing him all the way back to Corus. Pride kept her from falling back into his arms and begging him to take her back. Pride kept her from doing all the things her heart screamed at her to do and her head screamed back 'no!' Pride kept her from admitting that she _wanted_ to marry him. Pride had kept her from saying 'yes.' Pride had caused her to say all those nasty things. Pride had caused him to call her unfeminine. Pride had caused him to walk out. Pride. She hated it. Pride. A lion had pride. Hadn't the Ysandir called him a lion once? She was a lioness. Don't lions and lionesses belong together?

Did that mean that she belonged with Jonathan of Conté?

**"Nevermind" lyrics (c) Meredith Patterson**0


	4. Self Reflection

**Self Reflection**

Delia of Eldorne had been the most beautiful woman to come out of the convent in her year. She had been the most dignified, and the womanliest. She had started sleeping with the prince of Tortall after only months of knowing him. She had everything going for her, so why was he pushing her away? She would make the perfect queen—beautiful, womanly, and shrewd. She was perfect, wasn't she? Jonathan of Conté deserved nothing less than perfect. In other words, he deserved nothing less than Delia of Eldorne.

She didn't quite understand him, though. He was the inarguably the most handsome man in Court, and she was the most beautiful woman. They simply looked good standing next to each other. And, to be honest, their lovemaking was entirely mind-blowing. He was going to give up a steady lover and a beautiful woman to grace his arm for…what? A cold bed and a few dances with other women? It hardly seemed like a fair trade off.

Unless he already had another woman. Gods, she hoped not. That would be terrible, for her to be dumped for another, lesser female. It might just crush her entirely. Especially if it was a younger woman. Delia wasn't all that old—she wasn't any older than Jonathan! If he was trading down, that did not bode well for the future of the country as a whole. Not that Delia was particularly _worried_ about the country's future…unless she was a prospective queen, that it.

So she was a little self-centered. There was nothing wrong with that, was there? Honestly, anyone who wanted to pretend that they weren't completely self-centered in their own mind was kidding him or herself. Everyone liked to obsess about him or herself to a certain level, so why not just stop lying and admit to it? That was Delia's motto—never hide anything. She was completely open about everything.


	5. Pretty Princess

**Pretty Princess**

Ten-year-old Thayet _jian_ Wilima couldn't care less about marriage. Horse Lords, she was only _ten_. She expressed these feelings to her mother, Queen Kalasin, who laughed and kissed her daughter's cheek. "Thayet, sweetheart, we have to think of these things early. When I was your age, I wasn't thinking about marriage either." Kalasin had been chosen to be queen because she was beautiful. With raven black hair and a natural elegance about her, Kalasin was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman in the world. Thayet was clearly on her way to rivaling her mother's beauty.

This particular day, Kalasin was brushing her daughter's black locks to prepare her to be displayed in front of delegates from surrounding lands in an effort to create an alliance. Sarain, their homeland, was a mess. They needed allies, they needed support, and they needed more military. Thayet's mother and father were hoping for an alliance with Tortall, which was separated from Sarain by Maren and Tusaine. It was a distance away, but they were known for their peaceful king, and handsome royal family. The heir to the throne, Jonathan of Conté, was only three years Thayet's senior, making a marriage more likely then her to any of the other countries—all of whom had heirs much older or much younger.

"Mother, I don't _want_ to do this," Thayet complained, pouting.

"I know, daring, I know," Kalasin murmured, stroking her daughter's glossy hair. "Do it for me though, sweet." Thayet frowned.

"All right, I suppose." She glanced down at the dress she was to wear—a pink monstrosity that she positively loathed. It itched, and wasn't at all flattering. It did, however, set off her black hair and tan skin nicely.

"That's my girl," Kalasin said. "Now, come on." The queen smoothed her pale yellow skirts and stood up. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful," Thayet replied, smiling up at her mother. "Like always." Kalasin laughed and hugged her daughter.

"Let's go show those men who the prettiest princess in the world is." Thayet slipped her hand into her mother's. As they made their way down to where the people had gathered, Thayet grew nervous. What if no one liked her? What if no one offered what her father as looking for? What if she would be stuck in Sarain forever, with no claim to anything? That was the worst fate she could imagine.


	6. Manhood

**Manhood**

Sir Raoul of Goldenlake still couldn't believe that one of his best friends was really a girl. Little redheaded Alan of Trebond…a _woman_? The thought was almost too much to bear. As he swallowed a mouthful of ale, Raoul thought on all the times Alan had been swimming with them. Alan, or Sir Alanna of Trebond, had seen the boys naked a lot…Raoul wondered how she could've beared to see that. Goddess knows that he and the other boys couldn't have done the same had they been at the Convent.

Somewhere deep down, however, Raoul had always suspected something about Alan. He was just too secretive—it had been hard _not_ to suspect the youngster of something. Given Alan's dislike of women, many of them had assumed that he preferred men. But if Alan wasn't going to talk about it, then neither were they. They were men after all. Not just men, but _knights_. They were strong, they were tough, and they certainly didn't sit around talking about _feelings_.

Raoul found himself wondering if Alanna would've told _him_ her secret had he been her knight-master. Jonathan had recently revealed to his friends that he had known Alanna's secret months before she became his squire. All he said was that it was in the Black City, which the two rarely spoke about. After Alanna's farewell two weeks previously, Raoul and Gary had begun to think that there was probably something more than just friendship between the Prince and the newest Court scandal.

Alanna's first year as a page, she had beaten up Ralon of Malven. The memory of it made Raoul beam with pride. Raoul had rather enjoyed pounding the rude boy, especially when it came to protecting Alan. Raoul had taken an early liking to the new boy that year. When Alan had finally beat up Ralon once and for all, causing him to leave the palace, there had been a sigh of relief. But now that Raoul knew Malven had been beaten up by a _girl_, he was even more proud. If only the bastard knew.

_Beaten by a girl_. The thought hit Raoul like a ton of bricks. How many times had Alanna bested the other knights? Alan, the best squire in his year, besting the knights was one thing. But a _woman_ besting the knights was quite another. Did that make him less of a man, for being beaten—routinely—by a woman? No, he decided, it did not. Regardless of her gender, Alanna had been the best squire in her year and would probably turn out to be one of the best knights Tortall would ever see. No one doubted that she would one day become a hero. Raoul only hoped that she would return to Corus one day so he could congratulate her and express his brotherly pride in her.

Raoul had always thought of Alan as his brother. He supposed that he now had gained a sister.


	7. Gone

**Gone**

She hadn't been the same since the Sweating Sickness. King Roald of Conté, usually very poised, sat by his wife's bed looking disheveled. His black hair, streaked with gray, was mussed from night after night of fretful sleep. His sapphire blue eyes were red and swollen. His clothes were rumpled. Nothing mattered anymore—his wife was dying. Ever since that bastard of a nephew of his, Roger of Conté, had sent the Sweating Sickness, Lianne hadn't been the same. Then he had tried to kill her with the wax doll, letting it waste away in the water. Even now that Roger was gone, killed by that Alanna of Trebond, Lianne was dying.

"Father." Roald tore his tired blue eyes from his wife's pale face and looked at his son. Jonathan had always been a handsome young man, much like Roald in his youth. But now Jonathan looked years older than his twenty-three years. There were dark bags under his attractive blue eyes, now as red and swollen as his father's. The heir still wore his clothes from the day before. As Roald and Lianne's only son, Jonathan had received all of his parents' criticism, and love.

"Jonathan." His son, covering the ground in two long steps, sat on the bed beside his father and embraced him heartily. Roald crumpled and began to sob. Duke Baird, the chief healer, stood to the side, watching the king and his heir holding each other as they cried. Baird knew that Lianne wouldn't last much longer—his magic was keeping her alive as it was.

"Your majesty, it is time," Baird finally said. Two sets of blue eyes met his green ones. He nodded in response to their silent question. "She won't hold on much longer." Jonathan took his mother's cold hand and whispered to her in words Baird could not hear. When he finished, Jonathan stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Roald took his wife's hand. "Lianne, darling, can you hear me?" No answer came. "Lianne, I have loved you from the first moment I saw you. I always knew that you would end up ruling by my side. We've ruled together for a long time, and I could not have asked for a better queen or partner. I wish every day that you had not gotten sick." He choked back his tears and rested his head against her shoulder. "But it is time to go, my love. I shall meet you in the Realms of the Dead, I promise it." He rose, still holding her hand. "Farewell, my darling." He kissed her forehead and kept holding her hand. Putting on a brave front, Roald met his Chief Healer's eyes and nodded. Slowly, Duke Baird began withdrawing his magic from the queen. Jonathan watched as the green fire disappeared from his mother. Once the magic was removed, Baird nodded.

"She is gone."

Roald collapsed into tears, sobbing loudly. Jonathan walked over and placed a comforting hand on his father's back. There was nothing the Gifted prince could do, and he knew that. But Alanna of Trebond, who had once saved his own life, might've been able to. Jonathan looked at Baird, asking the question with his eyes. Baird shook his head. "There was nothing anyone could do," he explained sadly. "It was time." Jonathan nodded, this news strangely comforting. He sat beside his father and stroked his parents' joined hands.

"It will be all right, father. I promise it."


	8. Bittersweet Birth

**Bittersweet Birth**

Lord Alan of Trebond paced the hallway outside of the room in which his wife was in labor. She had been very pregnant with their first child for the past nine months, and Alan was anxious to share in the joy. He had chosen, however, to wait outside of the room as his wife gave birth. The sounds alone were sending chills down his spine. It sounded as if something were wrong, but Alan trusted that the village healer, Maude, would take good care of his wife and newborn child.

Suddenly, he heard the screaming of a baby. Moments later, another screamed. Alan stopped dead in his tracks and widened his eyes. The door opened to reveal Maude's face. Her mouth was smiling but her eyes were worried. "Your lordship, its twins." Alan beamed. Maude held the door open so he could go in. His wife lay on the bed looking quite pale, and Maude's assistant held the babies. "A boy and a girl, your lordship."

Alan looked at his wife. "What's wrong with her?" he demanded of the woman. "Why does she look so pale?"

"She's lost quite a lot of blood," Maude explained gently.

"No!" Alan rushed to his wife's bedside and took her hand. "Look at me!" The lady of Trebond looked at her husband with a new weakness in her violet eyes.

"Thom and Alanna," she whispered hoarsely. "Their names are Thom and Alanna." Her eyes slowly began to close.

"No!" Alan roared. He turned wild eyes to Maude. "Do something, damn it!" He looked back at his wife. "Don't leave me. Don't you leave me." Maude placed a hand on the lord's shoulder.

"She's gone, your lordship." Alan glared at her.

"I can _see_ that," he hissed. He looked at his twins and softened somewhat. "May I hold them?" The babies were placed in his arms. Alan kissed both of their foreheads. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"There was nothing you could've done," Maude assured him.

"She could heal," Alan snapped. "Why couldn't that help?"

"Many women die in childbirth, sir," the healer reminded him. "Gifted or not."

"Are they Gifted?" Alan asked of his children. Maude nodded. Alan frowned. "I do not want them taught." He thrust the children back into her arms. She looked aghast. "Those are my orders, Maude. They are not up for discussion."


	9. Spinning

**Spinning**

_"At least we can be scared together."_

Jonathan took Alanna's hand and tugged her inside, leaving the door open behind her. He pressed his mouth against hers, pulling her tighter. She ignored the honed instinct to pull away and let herself relax into his arms, kissing him back. Her stomach turned in knots, her head filled with naught but air. He felt his own stomach tighten and pleasant warmth spread through his body. Where their bodies touched, he felt the slightest tingles. He entwined his fingers in her red hair, deepening the kiss, and she responded wholeheartedly.

Alanna of Trebond never did anything halfway.

Slowly, barely breathing, Jonathan began to remove the bodice of her dress. His fingers shook. He silently ordered them to stop. He'd been here before; he'd done this before.

But not with her.

Their lips hovered millimeters apart, and Alanna felt the room begin to spin slowly. She felt somewhere between awake and asleep, like in those first moments of the morning when life mingled with dreams. "Jonathan," she murmured, almost inaudibly, and not for any particular purpose. Her words gave him strength, and her dress finally slid to the floor. With only her undergarments left, he enveloped her small body in his arms and kissed her again. Her arms roamed the muscular expanse of his back, still covered. He made quick work of that, breaking their lips for only a moment.

The room began to spin faster.

He looked down at her with bright blue eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly, fingering the end of her hair.

She nodded solemnly. "I'm sure."

He walked backwards toward the bed, holding her hands gently in his own. They stood at the edge of the mattress. She knew this was her last chance. Her last opportunity to say no. But she didn't want to. She wanted his love, and, in that moment, she craved it. Taking the first step, she sat down and looked up at him, almost expectantly. Jonathan leaned over and kissed her, pressing her back toward the bed. Together, they removed his shirt. She marveled at seeing his naked torso. She had seen it before, but never like this. Every crevice in the muscle fascinated her more than the last. She traced the lines formed by years of knight training. An amused look crossed his face, but he said nothing. He bent his head to her neck and began to kiss her collarbone.

The room spun faster.

She gasped as her dress melted away and only his hose remained between them. She felt his hipbones pressing into her and another knot formed. "Alanna," he half-moaned into her neck. Slowly – too slowly – she began to remove his hose.

As they joined together, the room spun faster, and Alanna felt every muscle in her body tense and then release. The room slowed, leaving them both breathless and smiling. They didn't need words. Jonathan rolled away and laced his fingers with hers.

The room, and her world, stopped for just a moment. And, for that moment, everything melted away.

* * *

_My first fluffy AJ piece since returning. I have to get back to this part, but I felt the need to write this for now. I hope you enjoyed it. As I wrote, I listened to "We'll Be a Dream" by We the Kings and Demi Lovato. You don't have to listen while you read, but I'd suggest it. Not so much for the words, but for the feeling of the song._


	10. To My Love

**To My Love**

Is it so horrible for me to love you? Is it so horrible that I think about you almost constantly? Is it so terrible that you are never far from my mind, and I worry about you? I know you don't need me worrying about you, I know you think it will make me prematurely grey. But I can't lose you. The mere thought of it… Please try your very hardest not to get yourself killed. We have a life ahead of us, years together that I want you to live to explore. I suppose I should focus on not getting myself killed either, for your sake. Do you worry about me as I worry about you? Are you writing such a letter, a letter you will throw in the fire so it is not sent, even by accident? Would you think less of me if you knew how much I fret about you? Would you shake your head at me? Would you laugh, or would you find it sweet and charming? If I were to tell you, what would happen? Would you kiss me gently and say you worry about me as I worry about you? I would give up danger if you asked it of me. Well, perhaps that's a lie. I'm not sure either of us could ever give up the dangerous lives we lead, even if it meant having an assured future, instead of one built on wishes, hopes, and crossed fingers. Perhaps I have had too much to drink this evening, or perhaps it is the distance between us. Maybe I just miss you too much. But I cannot tell you that. I could never tell you that. It is one thing to tell you I love you, but it is another entirely to admit I worry about you constantly. I know you think you're strong, and I know you think I'm strong. That lie is too ideal to ever go back on. But, just once, I would like to tell you how, when you are away, I have nightmares where you die, and I never hear of it. How I sometimes wake up crying, trying my very hardest not to cry out. That would be embarrassing. I love you. Please don't die on me. I don't know what I would do without you.


	11. Landslide

_I took my love and I took it down_

_I climbed a mountain and I turned around_

_And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills_

_Till the landslide brought me down_

Alanna of Trebond and Olau rolled over in her bedroll to stare up at the ceiling of her tent. She had not slept a full night since receiving Liam Ironarm's letter two weeks previously. While it initially bothered her and made her grumpier than usual in the mornings, it now felt like part of her routine. She lay awake for an hour or so before drifting off again, thoughts swirling around in her head. Alanna disliked the images filling her head in the dark midnight hours – most of them depicted subjects she intentionally repressed as being too emotionally charged, especially for a supposed rest period after the events at Jonathan's coronation.

_Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?_

_Can the child within my heart rise above?_

_Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?_

_Can I handle the seasons of my life?_

Too many people died that day. She had seen people die before in battle; she had slain some of them herself. But the bodies lying in the Hall of Crowns that day were too familiar. They wore familiar colors, familiar badges. The lifeless faces of three close friends were branded in her memory, inserting themselves into dreams of happier times. When she recalled their final hug before switching places, she no longer saw Thom's nervous, but eager, ten-year-old face, but the pale, sickly one of her twin as she held him in her arms. Sweet recollections of her romance with Liam became haunting reminders of his voluntary sacrifice for a country and a cause not his own. Guilt overtook her when she remembered disputes with Faithful, seeing the cat's dead body disappear from her hands.

Too much had changed. She now looked back at her time as a page and a squire fondly, while feelings were mixed at the time. The trials of a knight-in-training were nothing compared to all she experienced in the time since earning her shield. The young King's Champion expected her life would not become easier with her new post, not with her famed reputation, not when her monarch's reign started off with a massive rebellion. People often remarked how they lived in interesting times. What she would give for them to be _less_ interesting! _It's your own fault,_ she reminded herself. _You set these "interesting times" in motion with your grand notions. _"No one should let a ten-year-old make such decisions," she muttered. She could practically hear Faithful arguing with her. _But had I not become a knight, who knows what would have happened to Jonathan?_

_Well I've been afraid of changing,_

_Cause I built my life around you_

_But time makes you bolder_

_Children get older_

_I'm getting older too_

Jonathan. She smiled. How their relationship had grown since that first day in the practice yards when he stopped Ralon from beating up on her. Back then, she never would have imagined ending up his friend, let alone his squire or his Champion, and especially not his lover. At ten, she wanted nothing to do with lovers or romance. Even her seventeen-year-old self never would have imagined Jonathan's proposal less than two years later.

Nearly ten years passed since their initial meeting, and much had changed. She expected it would continue to evolve, as they could not expect to maintain the same dynamic while she was his vassal. While it was cute when she lost her temper with him as a squire, it would be far less so as his King's Champion, at least in public. She already saw changes in her relationships with her closest friends: responsibility calmed both Gary and Raoul. While she appreciated their maturity, a part of her longed for their earlier, relatively carefree days. She remembered skating and swimming with them, though she did little swimming during her years in training. How she wished to go back to the pond with Gary, Raoul, and Jonathan to skate! She had just been getting the hang of it when the ice collapsed last time. This time, she would show them all.

_Well, I've been afraid of changing_

_Cause I built my life around you_

_But time makes you bolder_

_Children get older_

_I'm getting older too_

_I'm getting older too_

Buri and Thayet were the people she needed without ever having realized it before. _Had I not gone for the Jewel, I never would have encountered them either,_ she reminded herself. Alanna and Buri shared many traits, which harmed their relationship in the very beginning, but served to make them closer as time wore on. Both were about to watch their relationship with a close friend change, and for the same reason: once Thayet became queen, Buri's responsibility toward her would shift as Alanna's toward Jonathan had when he became king. Friendship would occasionally have to be set aside in favor of loyalty to the Crown, and tongues bit. Thayet offered her a kind of female companionship she never experienced growing up – as a page and squire, she could not have that kind of relationship with a woman. She was thankful for Thayet's guidance during their travels and upon their return, and knew she left Jonathan in safe hands.

A small part of her wanted to keep him to herself, but she knew it was impossible. Alanna suspected she would always love Jonathan, but never again enough to pursue a romance. He was her first love, paving the way for George and Liam after him. He taught her how to love, how to share herself with another person. He showed her she could be broken, and showed her how to recover. His love and his departure served to lead her straight to the man who had been there for her always, the man she felt comfortable sharing her most intimate details with. (After running to him first upon starting her monthly bleeding, what point was there in hiding anything else?)

_So, take my love, take it down_

_Oh climb a mountain and turn around_

_If you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills_

_Well the landslide will bring you down, down_

George. Alanna fingered the charms at her neck, a smile touching her lips. How blind she had been for so long to rebuff his advances. It all seemed clearer in hindsight. George never asked more of her than exactly what she was. He loved her first, and he waited. He waited for years until she was ready, and then beyond that while she traveled and became a hero. He pushed, but never so far she broke, and always waited patiently with an amused smile on his face when she ran. He watched over her when she insisted she did not require it. He loved her in spite of her silly noble's pride, in spite of her insistence that "like must marry like." He understood her better than anyone, better than she understood herself.

Distance and time clarified her love; that, if he would still have her, she wanted to be his forever. Marriage-hating Alanna reformed and wanted to be the lady of Pirate's Swoop. She would be happy to have his children, to share a family with him, to spend the rest of their lives in love and as best friends. But her feelings could hardly be expressed in a letter. She needed to see him in person, to look into his hazel eyes and tell him what she thought. Alanna expected him to know before she said it; he always seemed to.

Midwinter. When she gave him his present at Midwinter, she would tell him.

_And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills,_

_Well maybe the landslide will bring it down_

_Oh, oh, the landslide will bring it down_

Alanna rolled back onto her side and shut her eyes with a sigh. She drifted off to sleep, content. Was it possible she was finally, blessedly, beginning to move on? Could she be leaving the recent ghosts behind her, honoring their memories without them haunting her nightly? She could only hope so.

The next night, she slept soundly.


End file.
